


From The Shadows

by Elleh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleh/pseuds/Elleh
Summary: “I thought watching people fuck wasn’t your thing,” Oikawa musters, and Hajime’s blush tints with shame. He’s unable to answer, and when Oikawa presses himself harder on Hajime’s back and puts his hands on his hips, all the air filling Hajime’s lungs evaporates. “What made the change?”“Shut up.” Hajime rests his head against Oikawa’s. “Shut up. Shut up.”“Okay.” At the touch of Oikawa’s fingers around his own, sheathing his cock, Hajime startles. “I won’t talk. But let me help you.”





	From The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> the last of the kinktobers still due to publish here. day 24, prompt voyeurism.

The sounds wake him up. Hajime stirs on his bed and groans loudly, really pissed off. Damn it, it’s three in the morning, the green light of his clock almost laughing at him. _Your alarm’s gonna go off in three hours. Enjoy the pain_. Hajime hates his neighbours, but what he hates the most is how _this_ is Oikawa’s fault.

A loud moan fills Hajime’s ears and he grunts, pushing the pillow on the sides of his head and pressing harshly.

It’s no use. The wall’s trembling as if an earthquake were shaking Tokyo, and the image of Oikawa forgetting to fill the apartment’s request they were supposed to live in flows through Hajime’s mind. His blood burns with rage.

Hajime throws the pillow on the ground and lays on his bed, staring at his ceiling. The sounds are everywhere. The bed cracking, the groans and moans and _fuck!, fuck!, fuuuuuck!_ , and the _yees, yes, yeeees_. Hajime wants to scream as well, but instead he keeps watching the shapes of the light coming through his window, and despises his existence.

They are gonna finish soon. Hajime will wait until they do, probably loudly and extremely, and then he will go back to sleep. It’s three. He can fall asleep as soon as he wants to. He will wait for the storm to run off, and then everything will be fine.

At three forty five, Hajime is _not_ fine. In fact, a tic has appeared under his eye, and there’s a really uncomfortable warmth crawling down his chest and around his legs.

He hates his life, and he hates Oikawa for putting them both into this stupid shared apartment thing.

The thought shines like a supernova on Hajime’s mind. If he can’t sleep, hell be damned, neither will Oikawa. This is his fault, anyway. Indirectly. Of course Hajime knows Oikawa hasn’t pushed the dude on the next room to have loudly sex tonight, but at almost four in the early morning, Hajime can’t be logic.

He wants to make someone else suffer.

Hajime stands, throwing the blankets on the ground and ignoring the aching on his crotch. He steps into the corridor, the living room down the right side, the row of doors on the left.

He should have known. Hajime doesn’t know _how_ he could have predicted this, but he knows himself smart enough to have _known_ , somehow.

Hajime is on his way to Oikawa’s room when, stupid of him, he allows his gaze to fall on the next room’s door. And of course, _of fucking course_ , the damn thing is wide open.

It happens without his order. Hajime’s feet stop dead on their tracks, right in front of the room. He’s choking, every particle of air now filling his lungs. Hajime doesn’t blink. He _can’t_.

He’s not a voyeur. He doesn’t enjoy peeking; shit, he doesn’t even watch porn because it always feels shallow and unnatural. Seeing sex happen doesn’t turn Hajime on.

Usually.

They are both guys. That’s the first thing Hajime notices. Why it surprises him, he doesn’t know, but Hajime has always thought himself the only one out there. He knows, of course, that he can’t be the _only_ one. But.

This is the first time he sees it. This is the first time he sees how sex works, between two men.

His stomach clenches, hard, and Hajime feels a blush burn from his collarbones up to his cheeks.

The sounds aren’t bothering anymore, but annoying. Annoyingly precise, and distinct, and direct. With each moan, Hajime grows a hint tenser, his eyes a bit wider. He can’t tear his gaze away, their backs pointing at Hajime, the muscles of their asses taut and shadowy. The image fills every cell of Hajime’s body, his mind a lake and the scene the boat keeping him afloat.

The wandering of his hand is totally involuntary. It’s the late hour, the wicked darkness, the piercing image of a man on his four with the cock of another man thrusting him into unthinkable pleasure. A voice in Hajime’s mind reminds him this is not what he does, watching other people have sex, _getting hard_ while watching other people have sex.

But his insides are aflamed. Hajime can feel his heart in a harsh beat in every vein he possesses, and yet, it can’t quite quiet down the loud arousal that’s taking over him.

His hand reaches his crotch, and he finds himself already hard and throbbing.

It’s a dream, he tells himself. He pretends it is, at least, when his hand slides under his underwear. He’s dubious, at first. Hajime’s eyes are branded with the image, his stomach tight, his muscles twitching. A fantasy, dark and unwanted, fills his mind, and when the image of the guys fucking as if there were no tomorrow filters through his eyes, Hajime’s brain projects it with other voices; with other faces.

He doesn’t dare stroke himself, astonishment and nervousness filling his throat with a knot the size of a volley ball. With his cock pulsating on his fist, Hajime watches the one on his four arch his back and whine loudly, and a wave of need shoots through him.

Hajime wants to be on his four, too.

He wants to bury himself so deep inside a warm, clenching hole he feels his own twitch.

What a mess. He should be moving. He tells himself, _move, go to Oikawa_. But going to Oikawa now will only make it worse. Hajime feels his eyes blurry, and his hand starts moving slowly up and down his shaft, his mouth softly open, his mind a tangled basket of strings too complicated to figure out.

“What are you doing, Iwa–chan?”

Hajime dies. Probably. He’s pretty sure his heart stutters so bad all his blood flow stops for three seconds, killing his embarrassment and this moment and the fact Oikawa’s glued to his back, his lips warming his ear.

Oikawa’s whisper is still ringing on Hajime’s skull, when he says, “Are you _jerking off_?”

“No,” Hajime lies, and doesn’t dare turn around and break the dream. Oikawa’s not here. This is just Hajime’s four-in-the-morning and sleep-deprived mind playing tricks.

“I see your hand from here.” Oikawa’s last words are muffled with the loud _yes, do it harder!_ , and the _fuck, fuck, you feel so g—_

Hajime flinches, and Oikawa’s presence is the only thing keeping him from finishing what his hand has started.

“I thought watching people fuck wasn’t your thing,” Oikawa musters, and Hajime’s blush tints with shame. He’s unable to answer, and when Oikawa presses himself harder on Hajime’s back and puts his hands on his hips, all the air filling Hajime’s lungs evaporates. “What made the change?”

“Shut up.” Hajime rests his head against Oikawa’s. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Okay.” At the touch of Oikawa’s fingers around his own, sheathing his cock, Hajime startles. “I won’t talk. But let me help you.”

“No,” Hajime whispers harshly, his eyes never leaving the couple in the room. They move in sink, and Hajime sees the one thrusting reach forward and leave a track of kisses on the other’s back.

The heat of Oikawa’s hand on him sends shivers down his legs.

“Iwa–chan, let me?” Oikawa rolls his hips, and Hajime’s eyes open widely at the feel of his hard-on against his lower back.

Hajime wants to push him away, wants to push himself away, but he’s caught in the intensity of the men loving each other with such abandon, with Oikawa being here, when he shouldn’t.

With his own need, hidden for so long that now that it has found a crack to escape through, there’s no way to contain it any longer.

So Hajime lets his hand move, and Oikawa’s with it. He lets his eyes drink from the loud, sweaty scene, the wet sounds, the unrestrained moans, the cried pleas. He absorbs every bit of it, and in his mind, changes their faces and their names.

And meanwhile, he strokes himself. Slowly, at first. As if he were trying to figure himself out, as if Hajime hasn’t been jerking himself off since he was fourteen and had had the worst and the best wet dream of his life.

Oikawa had been the main star of that dream.

“You’re burning, Iwa–chan.”

Hajime whimpers softly. He doesn’t want to stare anymore, he wants to stare forever. There’s a weird cloud filling his lungs and his chest, hot and overwhelming. It tastes like chocolate. The sweetness reminds him of Oikawa and Hajime turns his head around and buries his nose right where Oikawa’s artery’s beating furiously on his neck.

In answer, Oikawa fastens the pace of their hands. Hajime can’t catch his breath. Oikawa’s smell is everywhere: in his nose, in his mouth, in his lungs. Hajime wants to scream at him and kick him, but he has been dreaming of this for so long its borders have started to fade into time. If someone asked Hajime when this absurd yearning had started, Hajime would have no answer.

It has been forever. It has started three minutes ago, when Oikawa has rolled his hips and had held Hajime’s hand and Hajime’s cock.

“Tooru,” Hajime whimpers softly against Oikawa’s skin. The salt there wets Hajime’s nose and Hajime’s lips. His hand moves faster.

“Hajime. Wait, Hajime, let me—”

Oikawa forces Hajime’s own hand away, his shaft painfully hard, the tip so wet Hajime’s sure its brightness can be seen even in this darkness. He’s breathing harshly, the uneven movements of his chest hot and foreign. Hajime inhales deeply, and Oikawa’s scent fills him up.

Gods, he wants him so bad. He’s not even sure if this is real or just a longing hidden for centuries materializing now in a too early morning fantasy. Hajime wishes this Oikawa is real.

Damn, he wishes he isn’t. Hajime bites his lower lip when Oikawa’s hand, on its own, starts stroking Hajime’s cock with intent. Oikawa has always been good with his hands, and now that Hajime’s is out of the way, he does to his cock things he can’t even grasp.

It feels good. It feels maddeningly good, the way Oikawa wets his fingers with Hajime’s dripping tip, the way he twists his hands on its way down, the way he keeps murmuring senseless words against Hajime’s temple.  

Hajime’s not aware they move until he’s against a closed door in a known room. The creaking sound of a bed being fucked sounds muffled now, the moans and pleas an echo in Hajime’s clouded mind.

“Hajime,” Oikawa musters, his lips traveling around his profile and his cheek. Hajime rocks his hips on Oikawa’s hand and the roughness of the door. He moans pathetically. “You feel so good.” A bite on the soft skin of his jaw. “You look so pretty. I’ve always wanted—”

Hajime’s pants disappear on the next second. He’s panting against the wall, his hands on the sides of his head, Oikawa’s warmth so close and yet so far away. The coldness of the air kisses his naked skin, and the first coherent thought since he stepped out of his room crosses Hajime’s mind.

Oikawa might sense it, for he comes back and pins Hajime against the door again. “Hajime, let me.”

“Let you what.” Hajime can’t believe how hoarse his voice sounds.

He shivers all over, when Oikawa purrs on his ear, “Make you come. _Please_.”

Hajime’s unintelligible whimper is answer enough for Oikawa, for he brings his hands back to Hajime’s cock and starts stroking him. Hajime opens his eyes widely when Oikawa’s naked cock rubs softly against his buttocks, and the fast breathing he has been filling his lungs with stills, filling him with dizzy pleasure.

There are no more words after this, just moans and groans and softs names plead more than said. A part of Hajime’s mind is still hearing the loud sounds from next room, and together with his own moans and Oikawa’s, it becomes a tune perfect enough to send him over the edge.

Hajime comes with Oikawa’s name on his lips, his hips jerking uncontrollably against his grip, his ass sheltering Oikawa’s cock. He melts against the door, panting with his eyes closed, and it’s not until a minute later that he registers the still hard-on against his lower back.

Oikawa has his forehead against Hajime’s shoulder blades, his breath warming Hajime’s skin through his shirt. Oikawa’s hand hasn’t left Hajime’s now soft cock, his grip gentle and tender. Hajime wonders if he’s grabbing him to keep himself standing, or if this is the way Oikawa has to keep them both together.

“Oikawa.” Hajime hears him take a sharp breath. “You are—”

“Sorry, Iwa–chan,” Oikawa’s voice is shaken. “Give me just a second.”

“A second?” Hajime frowns. “A second for what?”

“To compose myself,” Oikawa manages to whisper, “and leave you alone.”

Hajime rolls his eyes. He untangles Oikawa’s hand from his cock, now dirty and sticky, and turns around. Oikawa barely moves to accommodate the shift of his position, and Hajime’s not sure how to look him in the eyes once they are face to face.

Oikawa’s cock is pointing at Hajime with a wet head, pulsating and almost ready to burst. It shouldn’t have been as alluring as it is, but when Hajime’s eyes stay there and don’t move, he feels a dripping, hot thing filling his stomach once again.

The moan Hajime steals from Oikawa’s parted lips when he reaches for his cock is sweet and perfect. It fills Hajime’s ears better than those they’ve been hearing from the other room, the sound of Oikawa’s pleasure a missing piece in a puzzle Hajime wasn’t even aware he was being a part of.

Hajime only strokes Oikawa a few times before he feels the shudders run through his tense body. Oikawa lets his head fall on Hajime’s shoulder when he comes, his moans muffled with Hajime’s shirt. “ _Ah, Hajime_.”

It’s the first time Hajime hears his name in that filthy, seductive tone.

He loves it.

They spend a few minutes there, on the door, the silence finally taking over the night. No more moans or groans or whimpers coming from anywhere, only their rushed breaths now calmer on the empty the space. Hajime doesn’t dare step away, but he wouldn’t mind stepping closer.

“Iwa–chan, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Hajime brushes his nose with Oikawa’s hair. “Sorry for what?”

“I—” Oikawa steps away. Hajime can’t believe how much he misses his warmth when he’s gone. “I— I did this…”

“Yeah,” Hajime smiles softly, tenderness filling his insides. “Thanks.”

Oikawa finally looks at him at the sound of that, bewilderment all over his face. “Iwa–chan?”

“Come on,” Hajime grabs Oikawa’s hand and drags him to the bathroom. “Let’s wash ourselves and go to sleep, okay?”

“But—”

“Tooru.” Oikawa stops dead on his tracks when he sees Hajime’s serious gaze. “I want you to sleep with me tonight. Could you please?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa answer hoarsely. He clears his throat, before a shy smile takes over his lips. “Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

“Great.”

Those are the best three hours of sleep Hajime has ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr ](https://negare-boshi.tumblr.com/)


End file.
